


Missed It.

by D3moira



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Beth Greene Lives, Beth Lives, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene Friendship, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Season/Series 06, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7244476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3moira/pseuds/D3moira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is always too proud to admit he needed help; Beth is always too eager to help. (Post-S6 finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed It.

**Author's Note:**

> Fix-it fic for my injured babe, with my very-much-alive-how-dare-you babe. Vaguely set after S6 finale, with no explanation as to how Beth is there, she just is... Sometimes I write things totally out of no where, with no before or after, and I just gotta share it, you feel me. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 It might be a mistake, but it was a mistake that had to be made.

 Carol didn’t know where Daryl was, and neither did Rick. No one knew, given that Daryl never stayed in the same place often. He flitted between houses like a shadow, varied from time of day, the weather, and what work needed to be done. Daryl had made the mistake all those months ago, when he’d taught her to track.

 So Beth waited.

 The sun rose and dove, and she came up with the pretense of garden work. She tended to the plants that were otherwise neglected, because no one needed roses or daisies. No one needed any of these flowers, but it was something Beth busied herself with. She would pluck the weeds and trim the dead buds, and it’s all a perfect cover.

 Her ingenuity was rewarded in a distant swatch of leather and tan skin, framed by too-long brown hair and a hunched posture. It isn’t his usual hunch, with his head dipped. It was his whole body, bent at the middle as he lumbered between Carol’s and Aaron’s. He was hurt. Lord, he was so beyond _hurt_ , and he was being a stubborn idiot about it.

 Not that she would tell him so. He’d likely told himself over and over how stupid he was, so she’d spare him the lecture. There were few things in this world more tragic than the look Daryl got on his face when anything close to _stupid_ was thrown his way.

 Again, not that she would ever use that word to describe him.

 But Beth now knew where Daryl had hidden himself. Specifically, where he’d hidden himself from _her_.

 Aaron and Eric lied to her face about it, told her that neither had seen him, but she pushed past them. They didn’t try to hold her back, really, and she was thankful for that. She stomped through the house, followed the layout with her eyes, and then tromped through to the garage.

 Because of course Daryl wouldn’t permit himself the _luxury_ of a bedroom when he was injured.

 The garage was clean, _cleaner_ than some places she had stayed, but it wasn’t ideal. There’s low light, a bench, and then an old yoga mat and _Daryl_. There’s blood, too. She expected there to be blood, and she understood that, but it stuck her low in her throat and tears formed.

 But Beth wasn’t going to weep over it, like it was some grand tragedy. It was a fact of life.

 No. She had to do this, for him. Because Daryl wouldn’t do it for himself.

 Daryl was already up on his feet, likely at the sound of someone in his domain. To anyone else, he might look frightening. There’s fists at his sides, and a set of teeth clenched to the point of shattering, like he was about to tear into her, blonde and pink all tussled up with bruises and scratches. Daryl was squared up, puffed chest, dropped head, teeth bared, ready to _fight_ , but she could see it.

 Beth could see the way he begged with his eyes; for her to not do this; for her to leave.

 “Hey.” It’s bubbled up from behind her nerves, gentle smile wrapped around chattered teeth.

 The lack of a response is not a surprise to her, or anyone.

 Beth ran her tongue across her lips, unsure of her angle. She recognized that Daryl was trapped in a corner, but he was in no position to fight her. Not that he’d actually _fight_ her. It’s just that she’d hoped to find him in a nicer place, somewhere she could settle him. She wanted to see his bandages, or lack thereof.

 Since Denise died, he’s not let anyone touch him. He had been closed off before that, but even Carol had expressed concern. Before, Beth might have left Daryl alone. But they had grown closer in their time before Grady, and she got to see that his plead for distance was a cry for closeness.

 So the distance, Beth isn’t sure if it’s punishment for himself, or for his recovery. Beth always thought that Daryl and herself were… _Close_. That sort of fit them. But it wasn’t concrete, nothing beyond a long since passed conversation about how he changed his mind.

 Because he’s since changed his mind again, about there being _good_ people.

 “Have you eaten anythin’?”

 Daryl glared.

 “I’m not going away.” Beth’s voice wavered too much, like this could be argued. She clenched her hands by her sides, jaw locked into position. Daryl had cared for her, when she’d been snapped by that trap. He’d cared for her in lots of ways, and she cared for him, and this hurt. It hurt to see him _hurt_ , and it hurt that he wouldn’t let her help.

 “So, _have_ you eaten? I’m gonna guess Aaron and Eric have been keepin’ you fed. Right?”

 There was a shrug, noncommittal.

 “Okay, good.”

 Daryl settled, enough that she felt confident enough to step closer. He had dared her to approach, and so she would. Her hands were clasped on the straps of her backpack again, throat twitching with the effort it took to keep a straight face.

 There’s something like hurt in his eyes, but not for the bullet wound he’d tried to fix himself. Beth suspected it was guilt, maybe, like he’d gotten after he’d lost himself at her. He’d snap, all anger and _guilt_ , and it’d fuel itself. Beth trusted him, and he’d never hurt her. He’d grabbed her roughly, in the interest of her safety or to prove a point, but he’d never struck her.

 Beth trusted him now, and her posture softened. He mirrored her, faintly, his expression locked with the kind of severity that his eyes lacked. Mutually they sunk to the floor, though she didn’t know who’d started it. She knelt on the edge of the dirty length of plastic, and ignored the blood. There was a lot, likely from the stitches he’d given himself.

 “Oh Daryl.”

 There’s a flash, teeth, a snarl. Something close to _don’t_ was bitten out at her.

 Beth frowned at him, but knew what he meant. He didn’t want pity. She couldn’t give him that, and she didn’t _want_ to give him that. She wanted to fix him up, or at least help him. “I brought you some antibiotics. We ain’t got much, but you need them. You _do_.” She added the last part at the lift of his head, because she sensed it.

 “I can stitch you up, if you’ll let me. My dad taught me, at the prison.” Beth had assisted with some of the children she cared for, in stitches for an injured knee. It’s not _easy_ , but it needed to be learned in this world. He’d afforded Maggie the same lesson.

 Daryl shook his head.

 “Why not?”

 “Don’t need some lil’ girl, playin’ nurse.”

 “Good thing you have me then, huh. I’m a woman tryin’ t’be a _doctor_.” Beth narrowed her eyes. She’d thought, _naively_ , that when she saw Daryl again, they’d be okay. He’d be there for her, and she’d be there for him, and they’d be _together_. Not even together like Maggie and Glenn, but at least friends.

 Right now she’s so far outside of him, she doesn’t know who this person is.

 But she does, deep down. He had been like he was, before, closed off, closed down, and it was about the people he’d failed. It’s never about the people he’s helped, it’s always the failures. It started with Sophia, and rounded out to her father, and now it was Denise.

 “I brought you some things.”

 And Beth pulled out a portion of scotch, some jerky, a few books, and some clean bandages. There were the parts needed for stitches, too, but if he’d turned down her offer, she couldn’t force her help onto him. She set the things neatly by him, and he’s too kind to smack them away.

 “It’s just some things from Deanna’s house. _Frankenstein_ , um… _Wuthering Heights_. _Dracula_. Didn’t know what you liked, so I picked things I read in school.” Beth gave a tight-lipped smile, her hands pressed against the tops of her thighs.

 Daryl eyed the books, skeptical. Beth doesn’t know if it’s good or bad.

 “You think y’bein’ funny, givin’ me that shit?”

 “I figured since you’re recoverin’, it’s something to do.”

 Daryl tongued his inner cheek, teeth against his tongue. Beth’s brow buckled as she examined the items she had on offer, not sure which he’d taken offense to. She isn’t afforded much of a chance, as he snatched up _Frakenstein_ to glance through.

 Beth knew that he could read. It isn’t something to be contested, given that he’d shown literacy through their time together. She’d caught him in the midst of a book, before, but he’d begin to tear out the pages the second he noticed her. He’d mumble something about fire, how it was good kindling, but she didn’t think that was the case. There had always been plenty of sticks, leaves, that sort of thing.

 Before, he’d explained how his father would shoot things he regarded as junk. She looked over the novels which had the slight wear of a proud book owner, but no bends, no tears. The blonde had to wonder how many books had been junk to his father, or turned into fodder for a fireplace.

 “S’waste of time -- _readin_ ’.” The book was tossed away, against the wall, and even he flinched. Whether it was out of regret, or out of pain, Beth is unsure. She reached out to set the book back onto the pile, lips tugged sideways.

 A mumble of _sorry_ came too late, and Beth waved a hand.

 “I thought you’d like something to do, that’s all.” Beth poked at the novel again, to straighten it out. “Read them, don’t, s’up to you.”

 Beth knew his brother, and she could extrapolate. It doesn’t make it okay, but it helped her understand him. Or she thought it did, at least.

 There’s a tentative shift as Beth reached out to Daryl. He watched her, eyes wide, like her fingertips were the business end of a brand. She touched him despite that, softly, on the side that she knew hadn’t been injured.

 There’s less blood there, too.

 “Don’t get stuck in your own head. I’m here, we’re all here… We care about you, okay? About _you_. Not what you do, what you don’t do. Honestly, the only thing we want you to do, is to get better.” Beth hummed low, a sigh to follow. “That’s all any of us want.”

 The touch isn’t pushed away, or leaned into, and Beth is too scared to inch closer. She lingered with her hand on him, thumb brushed over the exposed flesh. She pulled back to snatch up _Dracula_ , as an excuse to break contact.

 “It’s funny, um, the narrator? I forget his name, but they always get letters from _Your Friend, Count Dracula_. Which, _we_ know he’s a vampire, but the narrator, he’s… He doesn’t.” Beth giggled through her comment, teeth sunk at her lip. “Dunno, it’s funny to _me_.”

 Daryl doesn’t smile, but there’s a lightness to his eyes. He listened to her, despite the nothingness she described. She stayed with him, and read to him, because he let her. She hoped it helped, even a little. As the novel went on, he sunk into the scrap of plastic, teeth at his nail, eyes turned away, and he’d look at her when he thought she’d miss it.

  Beth would pretend she missed it, anyway.


End file.
